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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675811">boys of bedlam (oh, but how were we to know?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainedglassflood/pseuds/stainedglassflood'>stainedglassflood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(i'm sorry i'm doing my best), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, Angst, Attempted Murder, Character Study, Historical Inaccuracy, I swear this isn't as dark as it sounds, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, The Royal Navy, based on another fic, but MINOR! MINOR attempted murder, by a LONG time, happy birthday baz i got u even more trauma, i started writing this months ago and yet it will definitely still be a mess by the time i post it, phoxphyre said snowbaz but on a boat and since that day my life has never known peace, simon and baz dysfunctional couple of the year c.1803, why is everything i write like this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:28:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainedglassflood/pseuds/stainedglassflood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An altercation between two midshipmen of HMS Indefatigable, Jamaica station, 1803.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>boys of bedlam (oh, but how were we to know?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoxphyre/gifts">Phoxphyre</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408802">Hold Back the Tide</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoxphyre/pseuds/Phoxphyre">Phoxphyre</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few notes before we begin:<br/>1. The fic this is based on is very worth reading! It has pirates. And dances. And sea monsters. And it's far more coherent than this.<br/>2. At time of writing, the fic this is based on is not complete, so this might end up clashing with it at some point. I've done my best to avoid that for now, though. (For those who have read/written HBtT: This is not my take on *the* duel. This is a much earlier fistfight of my own invention.)<br/>3. Yes, the title is a reference to an <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWumb4hezKg">18th century folk song</a> alongside <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fnqWIr3UYU">a Bastille song from 2012</a>. What are you going to do about it<br/>4. Phoxphyre - I see your homoerotic swordfighting and I raise you... romantically charged drowning attempts? (I don't know what this is, I'm sorry.) Um. Enjoy (???)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Baz has slipped away again.</p><p>It shouldn’t still surprise me. It <em>doesn’t</em>, not really – it’s the first lesson you learn at sea. Out on the open ocean, when the waves start to scrape at the clouds and you’re weeks from any inhabitable land, there are no constants you can count on but the hierarchy of ranks and the fact that you’re never more than a few minutes from death. (I know what the Magus says about hierarchies – but he’s never been to sea. You don’t have to like what’s standing between you and the abyss.)</p><p>Basilton Grimm-Pitch may embody both of those things – a gentleman’s hereditary status, a vindictive and merciless thirst for my blood – but more than anything, he’s a force of nature. As stormy and unknowable as the sea.</p><p>He might act like a perfect, obedient midshipman when it suits him, but it would be reckless to assume anyone truly controls him – there’s so much coiled beneath the surface. You can no more make sense of him than tell a riptide what to do. After four years of bitter acquaintance, I’ve never yet managed to pin him down.</p><p>I slump down on the steps of a fountain and set my heavy felt hat down next to me, shaking out my hair with both hands. (It’s far too hot for that bloody thing, but my sun-hat’s been gone for weeks and I need to wear <em>something</em>. The lieutenants have long since stopped even <em>considering</em> “Sorry, sirs, but your favourite midshipman has a vendetta against me and regularly throws my things overboard when you’re not looking” as an excuse.)</p><p>At least now we’ve docked for a few days, I can stay mostly out of sight. I’m neither low-ranked enough to be pressed into helping with repairs, nor important enough to be invited to discuss strategy, so until we make sail again, I can more or less idle.</p><p>Maybe I should even be glad I lost Baz – with the war back on, idleness is a luxury. This moment, watching the stars come out from a fountain in an empty town square, could be the closest thing I get to peace and quiet all year.</p><p>I skim my hand through the fountain’s water and kick at the steps.</p><p>I don’t <em>like</em> peace and quiet. I don’t trust it.</p><p>I’d rather be right in the teeth of the storm, with the wind in my face and a clear task at hand, than drifting on a calm sea just <em>waiting</em> for the wind to hit.</p><p>A drunken cheer goes up in one of the pubs as a song reaches it conclusion and I strike out at the water with a fist. I snatch up my hat and turn to go – and there he is.</p><p>Baz. Leaning against the wall of an alley, half in shadow, watching me with a smirk on one side of his face.</p><p>“You,” I say. Stupidly.</p><p>He draws himself up, brushing off his uniform coat. (He’s normally spotless, but today there’s blood on his cuffs.) “It would appear so.”</p><p>“What were you doing down there?” I jerk my chin at the alleyway, stepping off the fountain.</p><p>Baz raises an eyebrow at me. “Avoiding you.”</p><p>“To what <em>end</em>?” I move towards him, and he steps smoothly out of my path, circling me.</p><p>“Oh, believe me, avoiding your company is an end in its own right,” he says lightly. “Everyone’s doing it.”</p><p>“I don’t see any throngs of admirers crowding around <em>you</em>,” I snap.</p><p>“No. Only you.” He drags his gaze over my face disdainfully. “And yet you just can’t stay away.”</p><p>He’s taunting me, distracting me. This isn’t the <em>point</em>, none of this.</p><p>“What happened today?” I blurt.</p><p>“What <em>happened</em>?” His eyes flicker slightly, but then he rolls them in mock-despair. “We <em>won</em>. That’s how it works when <em>we</em> kill more of <em>them</em>-”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” I cut across him. “No, you know what I mean. Something rattled you.” (And I’ve seen him emerge from a hurricane unshaken.)</p><p>Baz’s face twists – I think it starts as a flinch, then hardens into a sneer. “You’re accusing me of <em>cowardice</em>? After four years at sea?”</p><p>“I don’t know what I’m accusing you of,” I say, all innocent. Heart pounding. “Could be treachery. You tell me.”</p><p>“<em>Treachery?</em>” One of his fists is clenched at his side, knuckles white. He’s fighting to keep his voice steady – his aloof mask is slipping. (<em>Finally</em>.) “And on what grounds do you make that allegation, pray tell?”</p><p>I lick my lips. “You knocked me out of action-”</p><p>“I <em>lowered</em> myself to save your miserable neck-”</p><p>“And stole my <em>gun,</em>” I shout over him, “And – You. Were. <em>Scared</em>. I <em>saw</em> it!”</p><p>“<em>So?!</em>” he barks, hands flying up – but he pulls back just as quickly, locking his arms behind his back. “If that man had hit you, you’d have lost us the battle,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “It’s not my fault if you don’t understand basic tactics, but I, at least, demonstrated some understanding of what was at <em>stake</em>. One bloody ounce of discipline.”</p><p>“<em>Discipline</em>? You took my gun – you could’ve got me killed!”</p><p>“I took the shot you would have wasted!”</p><p>“So you could convince the captain you’re some kind of war hero when actually you’re- you’re-”</p><p>“I’m what – Evil?” Baz mocks. “<em>French?</em> Do you still not understand that one can speak a country’s language without living there?”</p><p>I’m scarlet from my neck to my ears, shouting back at him. “I don’t know, maybe you are! Bonaparte had a go at Egypt!”</p><p>“Decades after my family left – and he <em>failed</em>, you damned illiterate.”</p><p>“Well, maybe he’s paying you – or he’s promised you power, or-”</p><p>“I know this must be difficult for you to fathom, Snow, but some of us can afford to choose our own principles, rather than selling our souls to the first mad revolutionary who throws a penny into our hats!”</p><p>My vision goes black for a second, and then Baz is stumbling and my knuckles are bleeding and his hand’s clutching his cheekbone and the world is on fire.</p><p>I breathe in deep (I’m stumbling too) and shake out my hand. I don’t understand how he does it – what he does to <em>me</em> – but when Basilton Pitch wants a fight, he gets one. And he never has to be the one to throw the first punch. He’s never once taken the blame.</p><p>Baz pulls himself up, eyes blazing, and tilts his chin into its most arrogant position – tosses his fucking <em>hair</em>.</p><p>“Oh, Simon,” he says, a mocking laugh on his lips. “Again?”</p><p>“What’s wrong – scared I’m going to beat you? <em>Again?</em>”</p><p>“No, simply marvelling at your utter lack of self-control.” He grins, and there he is, my nemesis – showing his true face at last in full, blazing colour. “Do let me know when you’re going to start weeping – I wouldn’t want to miss the show.”</p><p>Then he lunges, knocking my feet from under me and sending me skidding to the flagstones.</p><p>He never fails to make a fool of me.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Snow rises quickly, swiping at me, and I dodge backwards, onto the steps of the fountain. I could have won within the minute if I’d kept him down, but Snow fights like a wild animal at the best of times, and worse when he feels trapped – the last time I had him pinned, he <em>bit</em> me. Until I bled.</p><p>It’s wiser – <em>safer</em> by far – to keep him at an arm’s length. And besides – neither of us are in this fight to <em>win</em>.</p><p>He jumps up the steps after me and lands a fist in my ribs. I grab his wrist and twist it, breathing hard through bared teeth, my eyes locked on his. His pulse flutters under my thumb for a split second before he snatches his arm back, and I leap back too, drawing him further up and around the fountain.</p><p>Twelve hours ago we were fighting side by side.</p><p>The world around us was all blood and fire and noise, awful and vivid as a dream. We were being battered by the sea as well as the enemy, in the midst of such chaos it seemed nothing would ever be still or solid again. I could feel the abyss yawning beneath my feet, Death’s cold finger on the back of my neck.</p><p>Duty, legacy, my family name – I couldn’t hold any of it in my mind any longer. Even my breath burning in my throat had ceased to feel <em>real</em>. I was unmoored.</p><p>Except for him.</p><p>Simon Snow is headstrong, self-righteous, undisciplined – downright <em>dangerous</em>. I hate him in every way I can. And he had a look in his eye then that told me he was only going to get worse.</p><p>Simon Snow was the only real thing in the world at that moment.</p><p>I couldn’t let him slip away too.</p><p>Snow grabs me by the jaw, nails digging into my cheekbone, and a strangled laugh escapes me before I knock him back with an elbow to the ribcage.</p><p>(I can’t keep myself away from him. For all I try to hate him, there’s something familiar in his eyes that I can’t place, something that eats away at me at night.)</p><p>I catch one of his fists in mid-air and twist it behind his back, breathing hard. I’ve trapped us close – his hair brushes my face. Salt, sweat, apples.</p><p>(There’s something in <em>my</em> eyes, in the mirror: a hunger, a <em>calling</em> that I don’t dare name. A siren song I can never put to words. And even so, it’s killing me.)</p><p>Snow twists free and hits me hard in the face. My head spins, but I can’t fall – he’s holding me by the hair. Blood spills hot from my nose and he watches with wide eyes.</p><p>(This is where it leads every time, where it will always lead: the two of us thrown back into this awful, familiar dance, over and over again, until it wears us down to nothing. As certain as the tide.)</p><p>I lick the blood from my lips and shove, hard – both hands on his chest. He stumbles – I don’t.</p><p>He’s still staring at me, transfixed by my bloody nose like a renegade by a burning palace – <em>Not so perfect after all. Just look what I can do</em>.</p><p>I backhand him hard across the face and he finally slips, crashing into the fountain below.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I scrabble and manage to grab his knee, pulling him crashing down with me. A solid sheet of water barrels into me – I’m on my knees and even so it almost knocks me down – but I roll through the waves and then I’m on top of him, pinning him under, with my hands on his wrists and one knee pressed to his ribs.</p><p>He struggles, but it’s hopeless – all slowed-down and heavy with the weight of the dark water. I hold him easily. I don’t even have to think about it.</p><p>Baz’s eyes widen in shock and he falls back gently, a ripple going through his fanned-out hair as his head hits the bottom. His nose is bleeding, a dark red ribbon unfurling through the water, and the light is playing over his face: his skin glimmers gold, his eyes flicker stormy and silver. He looks like– a ghost, maybe. Or a mermaid. Like something ethereal and terrifying from the deepest shadows of the sea. Some sly, graceful predator with wickedly sharp teeth.</p><p>He looks… well, beautiful. <em>U</em><em>ntouchable</em>.</p><p>And yet here he is. Pulse racing under my hands.</p><p>I can’t tear my eyes away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BAZ</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The world has fallen silent around me. The drumming in my ears is more feeling than sound: my heartbeat racing against the steady drag of the water. (<em>The tide</em>, I almost think. But Snow would never allow me the dignity of being drowned in more than two feet of water.)</p><p>Snow is right on top of me, my wrathful mirror image above the surface, with one knee crushing my ribs to drown me all the faster. Even now he can’t wait to be rid of me.</p><p>I, however, will just have to live in the moment. Since this might be all I ever get.</p><p>I don’t struggle; there’s no point. He’s always been stronger than me. My mind is rattling through the options but there’s no way to trip or outwit him from down here, with time and breath rapidly running out.</p><p>I might as well go down with some dignity. And, if necessary, spite Snow by making an exceptionally handsome corpse.</p><p>A slightly hysterical laugh escape me, precious air bubbling out from my lips. I trace its path through the water and my gaze comes to rest against Snow’s. Against his savagely bright blue eyes.</p><p><em>Look at him </em><em>now</em><em>, Basilton</em>, I think to myself. <em>You wanted to look. This is where it gets you</em>.</p><p>I’m light-headed, and the pressure on my ribs is tightening. The cold is seeping into my bones.</p><p>We’re as close as we’ve ever been, and yet Snow could be in another world.</p><p>The water distorts his image, making it dance. But I can correct that easily – I know his wretched face better than I could ever wish for. (And yet it’s still never enough.)</p><p>His wild curls are sodden and shining, his freckled brow drawn, his bloody lips parted in a caricature of surprise. Dappled light glows softly on half his face – it must be reflecting off the water – and the other side is in shadow. Even soaked through, he manages to give the impression that anyone who got too close to him would catch fire.</p><p>And perhaps that’s right, because here I am, pinned under his gaze, and although I know I’m drowning I could swear I’m burning from the inside out.</p><p>His wide eyes dart away, chasing something I can’t see.</p><p>A truly pitiful feeling of disappointment rises in my throat. I can’t even bring myself to crush it.</p><p>He could at least <em>look</em> while he murders me.</p><p>(I didn’t <em>have</em> to save him today. Speaking in the cold terms of military tactics, I <em>shouldn’t</em> have – his recklessness is his own failing, and even trying to intervene could have killed us both. But I couldn’t bear to see him waste that shot, and I couldn’t bear to make him take it.)</p><p>(I couldn’t help myself.)</p><p>(And this is is where it gets me.)</p><p>“I hate you, Simon Snow,” I whisper to him. My voice is lost in a flurry of bubbles – I’m throwing the last of my breath away. I don’t care. “More than you’ll ever know.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SIMON</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I’ve stopped breathing. My eyes are darting about desperately, searching for movement on the surface of the water as it ripples, dark then dazzling then dark again, tracing hectic, frantic, hypnotic patterns until –</p><p>Two pairs of hands tear me back, out of the fountain, throwing me to the ground. Voices are shouting at me, a loose crowd gathering around us – I didn’t notice. I’m winded. My head is spinning. I didn’t notice that either.</p><p>I feel like I’ve come out of a trance, a dream. Like I’ve surfaced from the very bottom of the sea.</p><p>Baz is a few feet away, coughing up water, gasping. Someone’s lent him their handkerchief and is trying to help him stand, but he pushes the man away, trying to hide his trembling.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Oh, <em>Christ</em>. What was I <em>thinking?</em></p><p><em>(But of course, </em>Baz’s voice sneers in my head, <em>You weren’t thinking at all.)</em></p><p>A sick, shameful knot is forming in my stomach, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. Baz is pushing back his wet hair with both hands, and his eyes are fixed on me, growing cold with rage.</p><p>He walks over to me, slowly, deliberately, shrugging off the men who try to hold him back. (Even more than halfway-drowned, Baz wears his uniform’s petty authority with ease.) He stands over me, staring me down, and spits blood and salt water on my face.</p><p>I scramble to my feet, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Good to have you back, Pitch,” I say, trying to mimic his aloof, sarcastic drawl. My split lip makes it more of a slur.</p><p>(I feel sick, pretending this is normal – but I don’t know what else to <em>do</em>. He’d eat me alive before accepting an apology. And there’s no taking back what just happened, either way.)</p><p>Baz sneers, baring his teeth. “You thought you could be rid of me just like that?”</p><p>I can’t make myself reply, only stare like a fool. (That’s not it. I thought I <em>had</em> him – I thought I’d finally got him where I wanted him. But I’ve only made things worse.)</p><p>“You will <em>never</em> be rid of me,” Baz hisses. (His voice is still shaking; it sends a chill through me.) “Not after this. I will make your life <em>misery</em>.”</p><p>“Trust me,” I manage, “You already do.”</p><p>He shakes his head and laughs, low and pitying. “No, Simon Snow. You have no idea.” He steps closer, tilting his chin up imperiously. (Making it easier by the second to remember why I pulled him into that damned fountain in the first place.) (The memory’s a lead weight in my gut.)</p><p>“Wherever you run, I shall be there,” he tells me, in a soft, measured voice he might use to explain to a child that fire burns. “Until I’m all that you can think of. Until your shadow looks like me, and even your dreams offer no escape.” He tilts his head, and despite my heartbeat drumming out <em>danger, danger</em>, the look he gives me could almost convince me that he’s being kind. (Even as he sets me alight.) “You will <em>wish</em> that all I did was drown you.”</p><p>He turns his back on me, all aristocratic disdain, and hold his hand out to a bystander for his hat.</p><p>He’s walking into that shadowy alley when my voice come back to me.</p><p>“Is that a promise, Pitch?” I call after him.</p><p>He pauses, turning his head half-way. (His profile looks different. I must have ruined that too.) “Of course it is. I’m a man of my word.”</p><p>I swallow the blood on my tongue and growl, “Then all the same to you.”</p><p>He nods. Then he’s gone.</p><p>One of the men who pulled me out of the water is trying to talk to me again – shouting, really – but I’m still too agitated to care.</p><p>Penny would tell me to listen to him, in even stronger terms. The Magus would want me to explain myself to him, to show leadership and gain the respect of the crew. I just push past him and go back to the fountain, falling heavily to my knees.</p><p><em>Baz would probably have him flogged for insolence</em>, I think bitterly, staring at my choppy, bruised reflection.</p><p>Except I’m not even sure that’s true.</p><p>Baz is arrogant, snobbish and cruel – but even he has limits. Principles. <em>Pride</em>. He shows the world a charming, respectable face, and saves almost all his malice for me.</p><p>I splash water on my face and press my bloody knuckles to my eyes till I see stars.</p><p>I should never have let him take that shot.</p><p>He thought I was going to fumble it, and as good as kill us all. He didn’t just want the glory – he wanted the burden he didn’t trust me with.</p><p>It was <em>my</em> mistake, <em>my</em> fight, blood on <em>my</em> hands. I could’ve done it, I’m sure I could.</p><p>It’s not like I’ve never killed before – I’ve been on a gun crew since I was thirteen; I <em>must</em> have. I know what happens in war.</p><p>But this time – with the enemy looking back at me, so close I could see the freckles on his nose – something inside me just… froze. And I wasn’t strong enough to throw it off.</p><p>Baz shouldn’t have had to be the one to look that man in the eye as he killed him.</p><p>And even if he did… This evening should never have happened.</p><p>I just wanted to see him again. I can’t make sense of him at the best of times, and after today – I needed answers. No, I needed- <em>anything</em> that could keep me afloat. I needed to get past all the tricks and the riddles and just know he was <em>there</em>, in one piece, under my hands – and then he was. And I didn’t know what to do.</p><p>It was like I thought I’d drown with him… I’d finally won, our story was ending, and I’d always been sure we’d go down together. It just made sense. Cut him and I bleed.</p><p>I didn’t think I was hurting him, not really – not any more than he was hurting me. And he had every right to hurt me after what I’d put him through in battle, so somehow it all just seemed to… balance out.</p><p>I’m such a damned fool.</p><p>I’ve been gazing dead-eyed into the water, and now I see it – the light I saw earlier was my own damned reflection, distorted by the flickering light from the lanterns overhead. I don’t know what I <em>thought</em> I saw – angel, sea monster, something worse – but Baz was right. He’s already got me scared of my own shadow.</p><p>I dip both hands into the water and drag them through my hair with a weary laugh. I allow myself one deep breath, then I stand, give my sopping coat a shake, and start back towards the ship.</p><p>I have no hope of avoiding him. I doubt I’ll escape the lieutenants, either – someone has to notice Baz and I are twice as bruised as we were immediately after the battle. But I’m too tired to think about any of that now. I just want to sleep, and I don’t give a damn if I have to do it shoulder to shoulder with a boy who became a killer today. A boy I almost killed.</p><p>Some things are sacred, even to us.</p><p>I’ve heard his nightmares, and he’s heard mine. Sometimes we have to just let each other breathe.</p>
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